


Practice and Experience

by Unpainted Canvas (RatTale)



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cliche, First Kiss, First Time, Granada Holmes canon, Inexperienced Sherlock Holmes, M/M, The Master Blackmailer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15479901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatTale/pseuds/Unpainted%20Canvas
Summary: After the Blackmailers Case, Watson can see Holmes is in a very dark mood and tries to get him out of it.





	1. Chapter 1

Holmes had been brooding for over two days. Initially Watson had been convinced it was the Blackmail Case which had upset him so. The whole affair had left both of them with a nasty feeling, so many reputations damaged and ruined because of one man's greed. It was easy to think such a dark case would procure such a foul mood.

 

But upon further inspection he realised his friend was suffering from a much darker depression than the case warranted. This wasn't a brooding pout, no, this was a true black mood, only seen when he was particularly troubled. Rare, but never welcome.

 

Watson cared about Holmes, perhaps a great deal more than he should, and watching him suffer so was difficult. More than once he'd wanted to simply pull his friend into his arms and hold him until his face relaxed into a smile and all the poison he'd soaked up into his soul had seeped back out. But of course Holmes would never – could never – allow something like that to happen. His friend was simply not inclined to the softer passions.

 

So on the afternoon of the third day, Watson – in lieu of acting on his initial impulses – placed his book on the table and decided to tackle it head on:

 

“Holmes? Whatever is the matter?”

 

“Nothing.” he answered and continued to puff his pipe. Watson hadn't expected anything less. He stood with some effort, his leg still aching from jumping over that confounded wall, and went to stand next to his friend.

 

“I daresay that is a perfect lie.” he said with a light smile. “I'm here to listen, if you choose to use my ear.”

 

His friend puffed more on his pipe, but Watson expected nothing less. He would open up in his own good time. Or never, as the case often was, but even if he never did Watson would still be there, and Holmes knew that.

 

“I had... some difficulties with this case,” he licked his lips then clenched his teeth. “Which reflected on my lack of experience.”

 

His heart almost stopped. Quite realistically he'd imagined Holmes would simply ignore him for the rest of the day. And only say a word in another week about it – or in most cases, never. With such a rare opportunity before him Watson took care to say the right thing, counting his words carefully in his head.

 

“And which experience was that?”

 

“Romance.”

 

For a second time his heart practically stopped. Two shocks in one day, if this kept up he might need his medical bag soon. But through that haze of shock he did manage to piece at least some connection together in his head. “Young Aggie? The girl you seduced?”

 

“Quite,” Holmes puffed on his pipe again, furious slithers of smoke spat out in quick succession. “She wanted to kiss me, and … I did not know how.”

 

“And this bothers you?”

 

“Of course it does!” he snapped, spinning around to pin Watson with a fierce glare, “I couldn't play the part, I was unconvincing, I failed at the most basic instinct in human nature! It damn well bothers me Watson!”

 

With a flurry he turned back to the window, pipe tight in one hand, while the other gripped the sill. Watson’s heart ached for the man. So secluded and isolated he'd remained in his world he’d missed out on the essentials of human interaction. To have it revealed during a case must have been difficult for his friend. Taking a hefty breath, Watson moved a little around to lean against the wall next to him. “Nothing too serious old fellow, you just need some practice.”

 

“Ha!”

 

Watson suppressed a smile at the indignant tone in his voice. “Learning these things isn't very hard, you can attempt it once or twice, and you should be -”

 

“Oh do be quiet Watson!” he suddenly snapped, making Watson turn to him in surprise “Your insight is as helpful as a slice of dry bread!”

 

''Holmes,” his friend would not look at him, and Watson could barely hide the sting of hurt in his voice, “I was only trying to help-”

 

“I do not need nor asked for your aid Watson! One divorce and one death, I don't think you should be giving advice in the art of romance!”

 

He might as well have struck him. Watson’s stomach turned and he could feel his throat turned dry. With a hard hand he wiped his face and stood. “As you say, good night Holmes,” he trudged out the door and up the stairs, fighting back the onslaught of emotion knocking on his door.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Holmes only turned when the door closed. No slam, no anger, just the quiet closing of a door. His shoulders sagged, he hadn't meant to snap at Watson, he never meant to snap at Watson, sometimes his thoughts simply got the better of him. And his friend, his dear friend, only ever wanted to help.

 

This whole affair was bothering him more than he would ever admit. He could still feel her, her touch and smile, her joy at his own soft, uncertain touch. She hadn't minded, not one bit. And that, that was what had truly shook him. He'd expected scorn that he was uncertain, teasing that he was ignorant, but she'd been patient, kind. Loving even...

 

With a hefty sigh he closed his eyes and pinched his nose. Watson was much the same. He surprised him at every turn, accepting Holmes exactly as he was. Not without a healthy dose of reprimand on occasion, but it was more out of worry than anything else. It was the reason why Holmes had opened up to him just now. He trusted him with everything, not just as a comrade, but as a friend who would listen – which included all those darker things he’d always imagined he’d keep hidden under wraps.

 

But he'd hurt Watson again, and he needed to apologize. Taking a steadying breath, Holmes dropped his pipe on the small table and went up stairs. After a brief hesitation he quickly knocked on the door.

 

“Watson?”

 

“Come in.”

 

His friend was lounged on the bed, smoking a cigarette, watching the curls of smoke dissipate into the dark ceiling. Holmes walked the few steps to his bed and found Watson had closed his eyes. Hesitating he finally relented and sat down on the edge. “Please forgive me my friend, I know you were only trying to help.”

 

Watson laughed, “It's fine. I know you didn't mean it.”

 

Holmes flashed a small smile, but Watson's eyes remained closed. He had gotten his acceptance but was not ready to leave just yet. “If you will satisfy my curiosity for a moment, Watson. How would you have helped?”

 

Watson cleared his throat, “Honestly I don't know.” he smiled, “I suppose I would have told you to find someone to kiss and get better at it,” he took a drag and smiled. “And you would have laughed and told me such things are nonsense in any case.”

 

Holmes nodded, “I would have. But you would have told me that I should then stop fretting about things I find frivolous.”

 

“Upon which point you would have told me....” he stopped, “Actually I don't know what you would have told me.”

 

“Neither do I,” Holmes chuckled and Watson opened his eyes. His smile died. “Oh my dear Watson...” he took his hand. The redness in his friends eyes showing just how much that insensitive comment had stung.

 

Watson waved his cigarette hand dismissively, but did not say a word.

 

Holmes held his hand. “You were a good a husband to Mary.”

 

And instantly Watson shook his head, “No,” he took another drag, “No, I really was not.”

 

His hand tightened, “Dear friend why would you say that? You were her companion her friend, her dearest man. A blind man could see it...”

 

“I killed her.” the statement shocked Holmes into silence. But Watson stuttered on without any provocation, “If I hadn't gotten her pregnant...”

 

Holmes grabbed his shoulder, “No.” he shook his head, “Mary was as excited as you were.” he forced Watson to look at him. “It was an unfortunate tragedy, but you are not to blame for it. Never.”

 

Watson opened his mouth to speak, but Holmes tightened his grip on shoulder and hand. “Do you make it a habit of blaming the fathers of stillborn?”

 

Instantly his friend shook his head.

 

“What do you tell them should the worst happen, and both the mother and child pass?”

 

“I tell them...” he cleared his throat, “These things happen, complications do occur, and sometimes there is simply nothing to be done.”

 

“And why are you exempt from this?”

 

With a little laugh he shrugged “I don't know,” but grippd back and then nods. “Thank you.”

 

Holmes finally relaxed and sat back but did not relinquish his hold on his friends hand. They remained like that, smoke still curling around them. “You must have loved her a great deal.”

 

“I cared deeply for Mary.” his voice was so dull, it sounded a little practiced. But Holmes let it go, his friend was grieving, not the best of times to try and draw conclusions. “But what about you? Have you ever cared deeply for anyone?”

 

Holmes nodded, “You.”

 

“Me?”

 

“I can't say if it is the same.” he shrugged, “But I know I am happy when you're around and often quite miserable when you're not. I enjoy your company, and seek it out as much as I am able.” his hands traced a pattern on Watson's thumb. “When you are injured my heart stops, and when you are on the mend I want to be with you but...”

 

“You don't know how.”

 

He nodded.

 

Watson was breathing deeply, slowly he lifted his hand and snuffed out the cigarette. “Holmes, I think I might have a way to help you with your problem,” he sat up.

 

“Indeed, Watson?” he shifted closer, “Pray tell me!”

 

Two calloused hands grabbed his cheeks, and Watson leaned closer. Holmes swallowed, hands trembling, eyes wide.

 

“Please don't punch me...” and then John Watson, friend, associate and comrade, kissed him full on the mouth. A thrill shot down his spine, his heart beat shot up, his hands trembled, his body went hot. So unlike Aggie, who was softer sweet. The difference between a burst of candy on your tongue, and having ones veins flooded with narcotics. This was maddening, burning, boiling frenzy, which had him groaning into his friend’s mouth.

 

He pulled back, surprise and fear in coiling in his stomach, and instantly stood, hands till shaking he stormed from the room and slammed the door on his way out.


	3. Chapter 3

In retrospect Watson would have preferred the punch. He sat, knees pulled up to his chest, face pressed into their hollow and hands clenched into his pant-legs. What had come over him? Years of friendship and camaraderie burnt away by a single stupid action on his part.

 

What part of him even thought they could end up that way? Holmes was a man who enjoyed his independence, his freedom, in what world would he give up that part of himself for Watson? He laughed, in a very different life, certainly.

 

It’s not as if he chose to feel this way. It happened so gradually he wasn’t entirely sure when it had started. The reality simply dawned on him one evening when they were sitting together by the fire. When he realised how fiercely he wanted Holmes to kiss him, and how much he wanted to kiss him in turn.

 

Well, he thought, you got your wish, but at what cost?

 

Their friendship hung in the balance, and Watson had to try and save it. Not even on the battlefield was the need to run so intense. But Watson faced everything head on, and with trembling legs he stood and walked the few steps to his door. One hard breath saw him open it and another helped him down the stairs.

 

He was vaguely surprised to find Holmes in the sitting room, having half thought he might have fled the house altogether, or even lock himself up in room. But he stood, stiffly in front of the window, and Watson had to steel himself not the run there and then.

 

“Holmes?”

 

He didn’t reply, and Watson took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry old friend, I-”

 

“You could have warned me….” that voice, so small and cracked, fearful. Watson had put it there, it made him sick to think about it.

 

“I should have...” _but you might have said no_. He shook his head, his friend had yet to move, his hands were clutching his pipe like a sort of protection. Watson didn’t dare move closer. But he couldn’t let Holmes suffer like this. “Are you alright?”

 

A sharp shake of the head, then “You surprised me.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Holmes would probably never forgive him for this. He’d crossed a boundary, one his friend had always had in all things affectionate. Watson turned, “I’ll stay in a hotel tonight.”

 

“Was that your way to help?” the question was loud, coated with anger, but centered with desperation. Watson stopped and turned, and Holmes turned as well, his face blank, “You meant for me to practice?”

 

He nodded, uncertain if any other reaction would be wise.

 

Holmes’ shoulders sagged, his eyes darted about the room, his breathing became labored, “You offer yourself as a means for me to… learn?”

 

“Yes,” he managed, heart pounding, hands beginning to shake, “I do.”

 

His hands tightened on the pipe again, Watson could see them trembling and it took herculean effort not to rush over and hold them. Holmes looked down at them, his expression suddenly fierce. He looked away out the window, “I want to learn.” he finally said, “I want to overcome this, understand this part of human nature, I’ve….”

 

Buried. Watson finished in his head.

 

Holmes took a shaky breath and turned back to him, “I _want_ to learn, Watson.”

 

Watson stood still for a moment, the grey light filtering through the curtains. He took a step closer, then another and another, slowly advancing on a man who was so viciously confidant in everything he did.

 

Except this. The soft desperation, the fear and uncertainty all reflected in eyes Watson had once called cold. Not so, not so at all.

 

The idea that Holmes was letting him do this, only wanted to learn, brought with it a sort of calm. The lust he might have felt earlier had dulled to a soft thrum, and by the time he stood before Holmes he even managed a small smile as he touched his shoulder. “We’ll take it slowly.”

 

Holmes nodded, eyes wide, Pipe still clutched in his hand. Kindly Watson touched it and with even more care removed it from his hands. “Would you like to try again?”

 

Holmes swallowed, lowered his head, looked up and nodded. The firmness in it almost made Watson chuckle, but he held back and instead tilted his head up in an inviting manner. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 

Holmes blinked, “I should kiss you?”

 

Watson nodded. “In cases such as these you would mostly be doing the kissing.” There was nothing more he wanted to do at that point than to pull Holmes down to him. But his friend was out of his depth, he was nervous and worried, he needed control, he needed to at least _feel_ he was in control.

 

The uncertainty grew in intensity, and Holmes’ eyes wandered over his face, he could hear the man’s hands flex by the crackling of joints. Realisation dawned and Watson carefully took Holmes’ hand in his. “First lesson,” he brought it up and placed it on his cheek, holding back a shiver at the contact, “Before kissing, it is usually proper to initiate some sort of touch first.”

 

Holmes nodded and the uncertainty vanished, leaving only the curious burning flame he had when looking at a new puzzle. Watson smiled, the warmth from his hand sending pleasant prickles down his neck and up his spine. He marveled at the softness, the sweetness of the touch and slow increase of pressure as Holmes found his confidence – and then Holmes kissed him.

 

Could have warned me. Watson thought as he dug his nails into his hands to stop himself from responding to the gentle press. His lips were soft, this close he could smell pipe smoke, the traces of shaving cream, with every breath he felt himself becoming further intoxicated by the scent. Thankfully, after no more than a few seconds, Holmes pulled away, eyes curious.

 

“Was that it?”

 

Watson shook his head, both in response and to clear his head, “It was a start, but there is more to it than simply pecking someone on the lips.”

 

“Yes,” he said, “Aggie kissed with more passion.”

 

The blind flash of jealousy was almost unnerving for Watson. A stranger, a faceless creature had taken his first kiss, had stolen something precious from Watson. He didn’t know her, he’d never met her, and yet she’d managed to do something he’d wanted to try for years.

 

Then again he reasoned, beating the flames down, if it hadn’t been for that he wouldn’t be here now. He had to cherish this, because it might never happen again.

 

“Yes.” he managed, then looked back up, Holmes’ expression was curious. Watson cleared his throat and managed a quick smile, “Do it again, only this time, move your lips.” he paused, and relented, “As she did.”

 

Holmes nodded and cupping his face more firmly leaned back in. For a moment he did nothing, then softly he shifted his mouth, moving over Watson’s who swallowed down a firm moan. Holmes tilted a little to gain better access, spreading his lips over Watson’s in an exploring manner. It sent sharp pricks of arousal down his spine. Watson couldn’t help but moved his lips just a little, telling himself it was simply to show Holmes how someone would reciprocate. After another chaste kiss his friend pulled back and Watson, breathless and hot nodded once. “Very well done,” he cleared his throat which had turned rough.

 

“Can I try again?”

 

A shot of pure arousal coursed through him and he nodded without really thinking. But his nod was barely started when Holmes kissed him again, this time his lips shifting quicker, Watson responded in kind, his hands itching to touch, to show him how a lover would really respond. When they parted he was panting, his heart thudding in his chest. _Alright_ , he thought, trying to bring his raging libido under control, _that should be enough_ -

 

“One more time...”

 

He didn't even have a chance to reply and Holmes kissed him again, running his lips over his own with growing confidence and skill. This was getting out of hand, his head was starting to spin, his hands shaking by his sides. He had to disengage, he had to leave before everything fell apart.

 

When Holmes pulled back again, Watson barely suppressed a gasp, his hands in tight fists by his side.

 

“It's quite addicting.” and Holmes plunged back in, and Watson couldn't stop the small sound breaking free from his throat. His hands finally shot up, wanting to push him off, but only served in grabbing his jacket to pull him closer. Grabbing every straw of self preservation he had, he finally pulled back, gasping. He tried to pull free, but Holmes was holding him close. When had his arms wrapped around him? “Holmes, we should stop - “

 

“I don't want to stop.” and he kissed him again. This time Watson moaned, and throwing some caution to the wind he slid his tongue into Holmes' waiting mouth, making his friend gasp and press him into the wall, bringing his firm erection to rest against his thigh. Sobered Watson’s head snapped back, sucking in cool air, desperately grabbing for any sort of control.

 

Holmes pressed his forehead to his, “Teach me Watson.” he shuddered at the moist breath, the soft voice, the clear arousal echoing his own, “Teach me everything.”  
  
His hands tightened, his body burning to surge forward and give everything Holmes asked for.

 

But he shouldn’t, there were so many reasons he shouldn’t. Holmes was confused, this was all new for him, he didn’t know what he wanted, he was taking advantage of his friend’s inexperience. When it was over everything will be different, and he would lose his friend forever.

 

Watson lowered his head, he couldn’t, couldn’t risk it.

 

Holmes, breathing hotly over his face and down his jaw, pressed his face to his neck, letting his wet lips trial a wet stripe down his skin. He shuddered, “Please, John.”

 

And Watson plunged back in.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of writers who are much better have tackled this idea before, but I thought I'd throw mine in my idea as well :)


End file.
